All out of Faith
by Laura1
Summary: Gunn struggles to deal with Faith's death by delving into her past. Interlude to my 'Evolution' series.


Background ~ Faith and Gunn are together with a young baby, Hope

_Background ~ _You don't need much background for this one. Basically Gunn and Faith were a couple with a young baby, Hope. Faith was ill for a while then she suddenly died, Gunn found her body and skipped town. This is his version of events. Other fallout from the crisis can be found in 'Sands of Life', part seven of my 'Evolution' series.

_Disclaimer ~ _Standard statement of what is blindingly obvious. 

_Content ~ _Adult themes. Sex. Bad language (hey, it is Faith we're dealing with here). Abuse. Drugs. Prostitution. General not niceness. This belongs to my 'Evolution' series but it is only intended as an interlude. If you are likely to be offended by any of the above, please skip straight to part eight in the series, which will be much fluffier (and have Buffy and Angel in it again – hurrah!). 

_A/N ~ _Sorry this took so long, but it is my first fic that isn't totally B/A centred, so it took a while to get around to writing it! I know that the diary writing isn't totally in character with Faith, but it was sort of essential to the plot. Oh and any details I didn't know about Faith's background (e.g. her birthday, the name and sex of her first watcher, etc.) I just made up, so sorry if it's all wrong!

_ _

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gunn sat on the hard plastic bench at the bus station wondering what his next move was supposed to be. His first instinct after finding Faith's body had been to get as far away from her – _it – _as quickly as possible. He simply couldn't face being in the same room, in the same city, the same state even, as the cold, dead corpse with the staring eyes. His Faith was so full of energy, life, vibrancy – that wasn't her. It couldn't possibly be her. But it was.

The longer he had looked at the lifeless body the more he had felt his own self starting to slowly die inside. He wanted to remember Faith filled with passion and fire, not dead in the very bed they had used to share. He wanted it all to be a dream, a horrible nightmare. If he could have turned back the clock and never met Angel, never fallen in love with Faith, then he would have. Anything would have been better than setting off on that path that brought him here, to this room, this moment, those eyes. 

He had come in that evening annoyed. Cordelia had been bugging him with some tale of a surprise party for Buffy and Angel. Apparently he and Faith had to be there. He had said no, Faith would never have agreed to come, not even just to Buffy and Angel's. She never went anywhere anymore. All aspects of her life outside their apartment had gradually eroded away and Gunn's life was beginning to crumble too. So, he had been angry. He had wanted to shake her, yell at her to get on with her life and stop wallowing. He had marched into the bedroom, a tirade of insults ready on his lips but they all died when he saw her lying there, as white as the sheets she rested on, eyes open and staring. He saw her and everything died.

Then he had shaken her. He had shaken her and he had shouted. Almost as if his voice could carry beyond death and she would hear him, if only he tried hard enough to get through. But there had been no response. Her body had dropped back on to the bed, like that of a rag doll. His brain scrambled for rational thought, what did you normally do when someone wasn't breathing? What would bring her back? In his desperation he tried to revive her, attempting CPR. But the instant he touched her icy lips he knew that he was too late. This was not his Faith. His Faith was gone. This was just a corpse that wore her face. A corpse with dark brown eyes that once had shone and now wore a dull, milky sheen. It always came back to those eyes that fixed him with their empty stare. Those eyes that would haunt his every waking moment from now on.

Emotions had begun to hit him them, as he knelt over the body of his dead lover. It felt like being pummelled by a baseball bat or being swept away by the rush of water from a burst dam. Grief, anger, resentment, shock, horror, nausea, sorrow, the raw pain of loss, they all hit him at once. Somebody had ripped out his heart and crushed it in a vice. He would never see Faith's smile again, or hear her voice, or make love to her, or a million other things that had defined Faith and that he had always taken so much for granted. Like the way she would scoff when you complimented her, like she didn't quite believe she deserved it. Or the way she always fought tooth and nail for the people she cared about.

God, he would give anything just to have her jump off that bed right now and yell at him for being late home, or flirting with another woman, or getting drunk. He would face her wrath a thousand times over if it meant he could see her face alive and animated, her eyes flashing with fury instead of blank and vacant. He wanted one last opportunity, where instead of shouting back, or walking out, he would ignore her anger. He would take her in his arms and tell her he loved her instead. And she would push him away, give him a strange look between a frown and a smile and tell him he was talking crazy. Then they'd go out to a bar or kill a few vamps and everything would be great again. Everything would be the complete polar opposite to the black hole of despair he felt at this moment. 

Suddenly he realised he was sobbing and clinging desperately to the hand of his dead lover. He dropped it as if it had burnt him and sprang away from the bed, filled with revulsion. That hadn't been Faith he was touching, it had been dead flesh, no better than that found on the meat counter. He felt physically sick and the only way he could stop himself from vomiting right then and there was to turn away from the body and make his way out of the apartment as quickly as possible.

Being careful to keep his eyes averted from the corpse on the bed, Gunn crossed over to the dresser on the other side of the room. He pulled open the top drawer and began randomly shoving items of clothing into a holdall. It didn't matter what he took, as long as he had a couple of clean shirts and a fresh pair of jockeys, then he would be fine. Packing was just a formality really; a way of acknowledging that he was leaving this place and never returning. As he delved deeper into the drawer his hand contacted with a solid item, a book, with a blank front cover. Unthinkingly, he simply shoved it into the bag with all the rest of his stuff. He would look at it later, now he could think of nothing beyond just getting out of there.

Zipping up the bag he dashed quickly out of the room, steadfastly refusing to look back. On his way out of the apartment he passed Hope's crib. He went and stared at the baby for a long time. She was his daughter, he loved her with all of his heart and he wanted more than anything to protect her. That was why he had to leave her behind now. He couldn't take her with him, when he didn't even know where he was going. And he wasn't sure he could even look after himself properly in the state he was in, let alone care for a young baby. Faith had always dealt with Hope and Gunn didn't even have a clue where to begin. 

And now when he looked at Hope all he could see was Faith. Her bright eyes taunted him in their daughter's face and he couldn't carry around with him such an acute reminder of the woman he had once loved with all his heart and who was now lost to him forever. No, Hope would be much better of if he just left her there. Buffy and Angel were her godparents, they had agreed to take care of her in case something ever happened, and this heartbreaking trauma definitely counted in the 'something' category. Gunn quickly located an old envelope and scribbled a note on the back. He dropped it in Hope's crib and, after taking one last lingering look at his daughter, gathered up his things and exited the apartment. 

With the last vestiges of rational thought he possessed, he knocked on the door of the apartment opposite and informed his neighbour, an elderly woman who had a tendency to be a little on the interfering side, that he was leaving town for a couple of days. He mentioned that Faith hadn't been well and asked if Mrs Goldstein could just drop in and check on her and Hope occasionally. The neighbour agreed enthusiastically – any excuse to poke her nose into someone else's business – and Gunn headed straight off to the bus station. 

Unsure of where he was headed or what his next move should be, Gunn sat down and held his head in his hands. The only thing he was certain of was his overwhelming desire to put as much distance between himself and the experience of finding his lover's body as possible. He didn't want to be around to face falsely sympathetic friends or acquaintances who would mutter their condolences then go back to living their own happy lives, thanking God they weren't in his situation. He didn't want to cope with funeral arrangements or dealing with a motherless young baby. He just wanted to be left alone to grieve in his own way. 

He exhaled a long breath, steeling his nerves against the difficult future he now faced. He knew it was weak to run away, but he couldn't help it. Faith was the only woman he'd ever loved (save his sister) and now that she was dead, didn't he have a right to be a little self-indulgent? He needed this time, otherwise he'd breakdown completely. The question was, though, where was he going to go? He'd lived in LA all his life and had few contacts in other cities, so the choice would be totally random. He glanced up at the timetable above him. No more buses left for at least half an hour, so he had that long to decide. Suddenly he remembered the book he had shoved into his bag with the rest of his stuff and was curious to see what it was.

He reached down to the holdall at his feet and routed around in it for a few seconds until he unearthed the book. It was old and battered and wore a plain blue cover. Opening it he was surprised to find it was a diary. Faith's diary. The world seemed to melt away around him as he turned over the first page and began to read.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_October 17th 1997_

_God my life is a nightmare. I'm back in the Children's Home again after yet another foster 'family' threw me out. The woman (who was like 300lb overweight) claimed I'd been stealing from her purse. Like I would even want to take their Goddamn money. It was her stupid whore of a daughter, all the time, but everybody blames me as usual. Mrs Obesity practically dragged me into the police station by my hair, then when I said I didn't do it nobody believed me. Well, of course they didn't - who'd believe me right? I'm just a stupid little slut that her parents didn't even want. I told them I wished I had stolen her fucking money, because then at least I'd have got something out of it. Then I ran away. _

__

_I didn't get very far, as usual, only to the bar on the corner of 28th and Vine. I like it in there, it's dark so people can't recognise you and nobody knows who you are. And they don't mind if you don't have ID either. Sometimes I sit up at the bar and men buy me drinks. It makes me feel special, like at least I'm good enough to get their attention. I was just getting pleasantly hammered when Andy, one of the counsellors from the Home, came in and ordered me out of there. The guy I was drinking with had a big argument with him, saying it was my choice to be there and I should be allowed to stay. They nearly got in a fistfight until Andy threatened to call the cops. It was really funny and it made me feel grown up that the guy should come to my defence like that. It was my choice to be there and I'm old enough to make my own decisions now. I hate Andy. I hate everybody at the Home. _

_ _

_9th November 1997_

_School sucks and I mean, majorly sucks. I don't know why I have to go, I'm gonna fail all my classes anyway. All the teachers think I'm stupid and they don't even give me a chance to get things right. I had this mega blow-up with Pervert Pearson my calc teacher the other day. I accused him of looking down my top and he went all red in the face, it was so cool. I've got detention for a week now, but I'll just skip it. I couldn't give a fuck about school, anyway. It's all so pointless, stupid maths equations and old poems, what possible relevance does it have to the real world? I can't wait till I can leave, but at the Home they make you go. They drive you in everyday in a big yellow bus that says Boston Community Services on the side and everybody knows where you're from and that you're one of Unwanted. _

_ _

I cut most classes and I go hang out with some other kids from the Home in an old building or in a bar. My friend Susie turns tricks over lunch hour. She says I should too. It's a great way to make some extra cash and she's only been picked up by the cops once. Apparently most of the guys she meets are really nice, they're not perverse old men at all. It sounds quite good, but I'm not sure. Wouldn't it be a bit demeaning? And you can catch all sorts of diseases. Susie says it helps if you get high, but I'm not sure about that either. This guy I used to know, Jason, he got addicted to H then he overdosed and died. I don't want that to happen to me, and I don't want it to happen to Susie either. 

Thanksgiving, 1997 

_Thanksgiving, that's a joke. What have I got to give thanks for? Certainly not for the wonderful meal or the warm family atmosphere. Some stupid do-gooder college kids came to the Home to cook dinner for us poor disadvantaged children. Just their way of giving something back to the community. They were all smiles and sympathetic glances. I bet it made them feel so good when they went back to their nice little houses in the suburbs, with Mom, Dad, little 'bro and a pet dog called Buster. I could se it behind their eyes – all the time they were thinking 'Aren't we lucky not to have to live like this? Aren't we just so Goddamn fortunate?'. _

_ _

_Some girl said she liked my leather jacket and where did I get it from. I told her I stole it off a corpse and you should have seen the look on her face. It was hilarious. After that she avoided me for the whole of the rest of the afternoon. Stupid bint. How gullible can you get? Like I'd wear anything that had been anywhere near a dead person. Totally gross. I got it on a shopping trip with Susie. Five-finger discount. It wouldn't have gone with the bint's Laura Ashley patterned dress, anyway. _

_ _

_But how's this for a surprise? One of the preppy college kids actually asked me out. Guess he wants to see the wild side of life, huh? Well, I'll certainly show it to him. We're meeting in a bar near to the college campus, then we're gonna cruise around town in the jeep that Mommy and Daddy bought him. Corruption of the innocent – I'm up for a bit of that._

_ _

_7th December 1997___

Stupid, fucking idiot, Faith. Why do I let these things happen to me? I hate my life and I hate everybody in it. I'm not gonna cry. I'm not gonna let them get to me. They're not worth it. Screw them all. Fuck the lot of them.

_ _

_8th December 1997_

I went out on that date with preppy-boy last night and boy was I wrong about him. He brought along three of his little buddies, all pimply faced and wide-eyed. Anyone would think they'd never tasted beer before. Probably hadn't. I took them to a club on Denver Street and they'd barely had two drinks each before they were falling over drunk. Stupid fuckers were pawing all over me and treating me like some hooker they picked up in a bar. I suppose that's exactly what I was to them. Some nobody to be used and abused. But I let them pay for my drinks all night, anyway. 

_Then at the end of the evening when preppy was totally smashed, he cornered me in the alley behind the club. Said that he'd taken me out and shown me a good time (like hell, he had), now I owed him something in return. I told him to go fuck himself, but he was too drunk to listen. He just forced me up against the wall and started pulling at my clothes. I yelled for help, but nobody came. This one guy just walked past and laughed. It was awful. I told myself I wouldn't cry, but tears were streaming down my face. Eventually, I managed to kick the guy in the balls and he loosened his hold on me long enough for me to escape. I just ran and ran until I couldn't breathe anymore, then I puked. _

_ _

I had to walk back to the Home then, right across town. A total of six winos asked me for money and two guys in fancy cars tried to pick me up. At that precise moment, if I'd been able to kill that fucking preppy boy, then I would have. That's it. From now on, nobody is ever going to make me feel that bad again. It's use or be used. And I know which one I'm gonna be doing from now on.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gunn shut the diary with a black expression on his face. He had known that Faith's past hadn't exactly been easy for her, but he'd had no idea it was that bad. She'd never wanted to talk about it, always saying that it was the present and the future that mattered not what came before. Gunn hadn't had a particularly rosy childhood himself, so he understood that philosophy completely. What he also appreciated now, though, was that Faith's youth was simply too painful for her to remember, so she just didn't. 

It just made the whole situation seem even less fair. Faith had just got her life together, for the first time she actually had a shot at happiness, then it was all snatched away from her. Gunn looked out at the people milling around the bus station, each going about their daily business, completely oblivious to the horrors that existed in the world. But Gunn knew more than most. He knew that not only were there supernatural dangers out there, but there were also human ones. People could be just as bad as the worst demons and circumstances the general public regarded as totally commonplace, could destroy souls as effectively as any Hellmouth.

He strode across to the ticket counter, his destination now decided. He would go to Boston. He would walk the streets that Faith walked ten years ago with such heavy footsteps for one so young. He would try to track down some of the people she knew then and hopefully he would lay some of her ghosts to rest. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_16th December 1997___

_I have another date again, my first since preppy-boy and the alley. Susie says I've now learnt one of the most important lessons in life. Men aren't to be trusted. They're just out for one thing. Sex. They don't care about you or want to be with you. They just want to screw. And if you're a nice girl – you know, the type who gets straight A's, or are on the swim team, or wear their hair in French braids – then the guys will treat you nice in the hope you'll put out. And be respectful so that they don't get in trouble with your parents or older brother. But if you're one of Us, one of the Unwanted, who nobody cares about, then they don't bother with the flowers, or the candy, or the dinner dates. They just take what they want and drop you in the gutter. So, Susie says you have to get in first. After all you've got the power. You've got what that guy wants and if you want it too then just grab it and then cast him to the kerb. And if you don't want it then either stay away from the guy or see what he can give you in return. _

_ _

Susie says that we don't have many things in life. We don't have money, or good grades, or families who love us. But sex is an asset we do possess and we can use. I still haven't stooped as low as selling myself on the streets for money, but it's starting to look more attractive. And I don't exactly have many other career options. Use or be abused, remember?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gunn arrived in Boston and checked into a cheap hotel in one of the less touristy areas of the city. It was pretty run-down, and he had to share his room with several cockroaches, but he'd stayed in worse places. As he casually flipped through the pages of the diary, he pondered his next course of action. He wanted to find out more about what Faith's life as a teenager had been like and that meant speaking to people who had known her. There had been lots of references to a girl called Susie, who Gunn assumed to be Faith's best friend at the time, so he decided that she would be as good a place to start as any.

He set out on the streets at nightfall, a stake secreted in one pocket and a knife in the other. He liked to be able to defend himself against every kind of creature that walked the night – human or demon. He'd spent most of his young life either living on or walking the streets of Los Angeles, so he knew a lot about the communities and people you were likely to find there and he assumed the arrangement would be similar in Boston. According to Faith's diary, ten years ago Susie had been working as a prostitute in order to earn some extra cash. Chances were that when she left the children's home, she had taken up prostitution full time. Now there were no guarantees that she would still be around, ten years was a long time and a lot of things could have happened to her, but there was bound to be someone who remembered her and knew how to contact her. You just had to ask the right people the right questions. 

As Gunn strode into the red light district, he noticed he was being directed threatening looks from gangs of youths that hung around on every corner. He studiously ignored them, he was here for Faith, to lay some of her history to rest, not to get into some petty fight with the locals. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife in his pocket, anyway, just in case. 

After a short while he found what he was looking for, a young girl standing nervously on the edge of the sidewalk, obviously hooking. He'd wanted to talk to someone younger, because they were more likely to surrender information to him, whereas the older women would just tell him where to go. The girl must have been all of about fifteen years old and Gunn's heart went out to her. Nobody that young should be put in that kind of situation – it just wasn't fair. She should be out enjoying her adolescence with her friends, instead of selling herself on a street corner. He wanted to do something to help, but there was nothing he could do. He was here for a purpose and he couldn't let himself be distracted from that. _You can't save everybody_, he told himself, feeling an acute pang of loss as he remembered the sight of Faith's body.

He quickly pushed away the images and focused on the task in hand. He swaggered up to the girl, casually projecting an air of streetwise confidence. She gave him a nervous glance, understanding immediately that he was not here for her services. Gunn suppressed the reassuring smile that was beginning to rise unbidden to his lips, and concentrated on maintaining his 'tough guy' persona.

"I need some information." He came straight out with his request.

"Then I can't help you, man." The girl replied anxiously. "I don't know nothing."

"You just work here, right?" Gunn joked, but kept the hard edge to his voice.

The hooker shot him a strange look, but said nothing.

"I want to know who runs the girls in this part of town." Gunn demanded.

"You a cop?" The prostitute asked. "Because, I'm just waiting here for my friend,"

"Yeah, and then you're going to bible study together." Added Gunn sarcastically. "I'm not looking for any trouble." He continued. "I'm new in town and I wanted to introduce myself. Didn't want to step on any toes, that's all. But if you want to make enemies for your boss then that's fine with me." He turned to walk away and the girl hesitated before calling him back. 

"Wait. You want Johnny Wright." She spoke hurriedly, as if wanting to get the information out before she could change her mind. "You'll find him in the club on 56th Street, in the back room. Just ask to speak to Johnny and someone will point you in the right direction. But don't tell him I told you, OK? We never spoke."

Gunn finally allowed himself to smile. "Fine." He pulled out his wallet and extracted a couple of bills then handed them over to the young hooker. "Here, keep these for yourself, alright?"

Before the girl could answer, he had already turned away and was heading in the direction of 56th Street. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gunn walked out of the bar sporting a piece of paper containing a scribbled address and a blackened eye. He had been lucky to escape with his life and he felt an idiot of epic proportions. Everything had gone smoothly at first. He had asked at the bar to see Johnny and after a short wait, was granted admittance. He spent ten minutes persuading the pimp that his reasons were legitimate and he wanted to track down a former and possibly current working girl by the name of Susie and that he'd hear Johnny was the man in the know in these parts. Wright had initially been very suspicious, until Gunn had produced his private investigators license, which upped his credibility somewhat. 

Once satisfied that Gunn was neither a cop, nor was he trying to take over some of Johnny's territory, the pimp had given Gunn the address that he needed. However, when Gunn had been returning the wallet to his pocket, one of Wright's men had noticed a gleam of steel sticking out of the side of his coat. He had been immediately slammed against the wall and relieved of the knife. Gunn cursed himself for bringing it in the first place – gangsters carried knifes, not private eyes from the west coast. And it was never a good idea to bring a weapon into the safe haven of a Gang Lord; just having the knife was considered an unspoken threat to the organisation.

Johnny had immediately become suspicious of Gunn's motives and called for his remaining pockets to be searched. The stakes and crosses he carried about his person had caused much amusement, but the pistol he kept in an ankle holster had nearly gotten him killed. The same lackey who'd had him pinned to the wall, a 300lb black guy, with a knife scar bisecting his left cheek, had slammed his head against Johnny's desk, while the pimp himself demanded to know Gunn's true motives. There was really nothing Gunn could say in reply to this, as he had told the truth all along.

Just as he was beginning to curse his honesty and stupidity and began to doubt the likelihood of ever getting out of the situation alive, there had been shouts of alarm from the front of the club. Fifteen assorted police officers and federal agents all armed with assault rifles, burst into the back office on a drugs raid. In the ensuing confusion Gunn managed to slip out the back door, along with a few other very lucky individuals. He quickly tended to his wounds then headed off to the address he had managed to hang on to. He didn't have much time now that the local criminal element were familiar with him. He was probably suspected to be an undercover fed after his visit had coincided with that of the authorities, therefore, he would have to finish his business in this area pretty quickly if he wanted to escape with injuries no more severe than a bruised face. 

Gunn could handle himself fairly well, certainly better than your average gang member, but he didn't exactly rate his chances against the whole of the South Boston drugs scene. It wasn't auspicious start to his quest he had been hoping for, but it made the whole thing a little more challenging and that he liked. This feeling of adrenaline coursing though his system after playing Russian roulette with his life like that, was one that he had been missing for a while. He enjoyed the danger, the thrill, the triumph after escaping so narrowly. This was a position he had been in before – he didn't care whether he lived or died, the only things that made his existence worthwhile were the moments of excitement. When he stared death in the face and won. It helped him forget. Throwing all his energies into just surviving through each risky situation pushed all thoughts of Faith out of his mind. It gave him the same high that loving her had used to. 

Only these highs had soul-destroying lows between them, which he was increasingly desperate to banish. Adrenaline was like a drug to him and he was quickly becoming addicted. He could see the immediate future mapped out clearly before him and yet he didn't care what it held. He saw himself taking greater and greater risks just for the hell of it and there was no way he could stop now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_22nd December 1997_

Whoopee-do, they've found me a foster home for the holidays, so I won't have to pine away in some institution over Christmas. Aren't the authorities just so considerate? More like they didn't want to stretch to an extra for Christmas dinner, or gifts. Now that's always a laugh, seeing the TV crews and newspapers come around and pick out the orphan Annie look-a-likes to pose for the cameras, whilst the latest candidate for office shows his sterling generosity by distributing presents to the poor, disadvantaged kids. Strange how it's only the photogenic kids that get the computers, or the hi-fis, or the toys. The only thing I've ever gotten is a campaign button and the chance to star in some amateur pornography. Needless to say I turned down both, they weren't gonna pay me for the porn so what was the point?

_ _

_Anyway, on to my Big News. I am now a temporary resident of the Taylor household. It is a worse Hellhole than my last foster home even. I don't know where they find these places, but then I suppose they're scraping the barrel for me. Everywhere else has had me already and thrown me out. That's my own little claim to fame – the most unwanted person in the whole of Boston. Maybe I should move to another city, see if I can piss off a few people off there. But for now the Taylor family seem quite happy with me. I'm their new little toy to play with. Mrs Taylor is about as meek as your average lamb. She scurries around me all the time making sure I've got everything I need and that her husband is kept in a steady supply of beers. Mr Taylor on the other hand, is a lazy drunk, which I totally respect. Why bust your ass working all day when you can just sit around and let other people wait on you hand and foot? Very cool. _

_ _

_The Taylors also have two sons, twin boys aged fourteen. They're quite good looking and it's a shame they're so young, otherwise I'd have a fun time corrupting them. Twins as well – the possibilities are endless. They annoy me though, they're really quiet and sneaky. They never just come out and say what they're thinking, they always talk behind your back. And they're always plotting something. Yesterday I caught them hanging about the door to my room and I swear they were planning to go through my stuff. Not that's there's anything I could do about it if they did. I'm not even allowed a lock on my door. Apparently there are 'no secrets in this house'. Yeah right, that's what they all say, but there're skeletons in every closet. Even I know that much. But anywhere's better than the Home at Christmas, so I can't really complain._

_ _

_1st January 1998___

_OK a new year, a new reason why my life sucks. The Taylors gave me a curfew for New Year's Eve. A curfew of half past midnight, would you believe it? They said that what applied to their boys also had to apply to me. Never mind the fact that I'm older than their darling boys and have had a hell of a lot more life experience. Plus the fact I'm not their daughter and I'll stay out as long as I fucking well like. I told them that, plus a few other choice phrases and then stormed out. Or at least I tried to storm out. Mr Taylor suddenly proved that he's not all that lazy after all. He was out of his chair and gripping my arm like an iron vice before I even managed to get out of the door. I could smell his whiskey laced breath on my face and I had a flashback to that night in the alley with preppy boy and my own personal humiliation. I screamed that he was hurting me, that he wasn't allowed to do this. I'd tell the police and the social services and they'd take his sons away. _

_ _

_He didn't listen to a word I said. He just ranted on drunkenly. How dare I abuse his hospitality? How dare I speak to his wife like that? He said I was filthy and disgusting then he marched me into the kitchen and squirted liquid soap into my mouth. He told me that I'd said such dirty things my mouth needed washing out. I spat the soap out in his face, but that only made him angrier. He threw me down on the floor and I banged my head on the tile. All the while Mrs Taylor was just standing by, her face drawn and her eyes wide. I hate her for not helping me and I hate myself for not fighting back or running away after he hit me. I just dashed upstairs and curled up on my bed crying. I promised myself I wouldn't cry, so why do I have to keep breaking that promise?_

_ _

_4th January 1998___

I went to see one of the social workers at the Home today, about Mr Taylor. I told them he hit me, showed them the bruise on my arm and the bump on the back of my head. The guy just laughed. He said that I was making trouble again, like the last time, when I stole that money. I told him that wasn't true either, but he didn't believe me. Nobody ever believes anything I say, or if they do they just don't care. To them I'm just another statistic to add to their records and now they've gotten rid of me, what does it matter how I'm feeling?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gunn quickly tracked down the address – a very dilapidated apartment building, with boarded over windows and graffiti scrawled across its façade. There was no security to speak of protecting the apartments, and Gunn just walked straight in off the street and up the narrow stairwell that was littered with rubbish and smelled strongly of stale urine. He located number 36B and knocked lightly on the door. There was no response, so he banged more firmly, punctuating his knocking with a yell.

"Hello! Susie? Is anybody home?"

He caught the sound of a crying child from inside the apartment and after a moment's indecision, broke down the door with a shove of his shoulder. The hinges were weak and the wood gave easily underneath him, and Gunn virtually toppled into the small room, cursing under his breath. He was shocked into silence, however, when he saw the interior of the apartment and its occupants. 

A woman, obviously Susie – whom he knew to be in her mid-twenties but who looked much older – lay sprawled out on the couch, her eyes glazed over and staring into space, a strange smile in her face. In the corner of the room huddled a small child all of about three years old and a wrapped in stained blankets in a broken lay a small baby, from whom the crying was emanating. Gunn felt ill at the sight. The staring eyes and the vacant expression of the woman reminded him all too clearly of Faith's appearance that last time Gunn had seen her, only Susie was still alive and breathing shallowly. He leant over her and checked her radial pulse, it was still strong, but as he measured it he noticed the track marks on her arms. He dropped her wrist in disgust – she wasn't ill, she was high on drugs.

He carefully removed the syringe that lay discarded next to her and threw it away before one of the children could injure themselves on it. Next he shook Susie viciously and slapped her across the face, in order to rouse her. She just giggled, so he picked her up, registering as he did so how light and frail she was, and carried her into the tiny bathroom. He dumped her, fully clothed, into the cracked and watermarked bathtub and turned the cold shower on her. A few minutes later she was spluttering back into awareness. 

"Who the fuck are you?" She swore loudly.

"A friend of a friend." Gunn muttered bitterly, throwing a towel at Susie. "Now get dried and changed, while you try and sober up." 

She glared at him, but climbed slowly out of the tub and began to comply with his request, anyway.

Meanwhile, Gunn headed back into the main room and went to check on the baby, whose crying had receded to a low whimper. He picked it up and rocked it in his arms, the situation evoking potent and painful memories of Hope, as well as a stab of guilt for leaving her like he did. But he quickly pushed these thoughts out of his head and concentrated, as he always did, on the situation in hand. He was not like Angel, he didn't brood endlessly about his problems, he just tried to forget them and get on with life. 

Once the baby had quietened down completely he put it (he had as yet been unable to determine the sex of the child) back down and began to hunt in the kitchen for a clean bottle and some formula. Practice of feeding Hope taught him what to do and he boiled some water on the stove, used it to rinse out the bottle then tipped in the mixed and warmed formula. The baby guzzled down the liquid gratefully and Gunn was just tucking her back into the crib, when a dried and dressed Susie re-entered the room.

"OK, I'll ask again." She said angrily. "Who the fuck are you and what are you doing near my children?"

"My names Charles Gunn." He answered. "And somebody had to look after your kids when you were passed out on drugs."

She ignored that comment, instead beckoning to the little girl still crouched in the corner of the room. "Come here, sweetie. Did the strange man, say or do anything to you?"

The girl shook her head and ran into her mother's embrace, clinging to Susie wordlessly. The woman fixed Gunn with a suspicious stare, the last vestiges of heroin beginning to leave her bloodstream and her thoughts clearing once more. "So, you're not the cops or the social services, and you're not one of Johnny's men, otherwise I'd be beaten black and blue by now. So, who exactly are you Charles Gunn and what are you doing here?"

Gunn sighed, reluctant now to reveal his motives for coming here, because that would mean admitting that Faith really was dead. And once he said it out loud he couldn't take it back, he couldn't change it and he couldn't pretend it wasn't true, anymore.

"I've come about a mutual friend." He said.

"Who?"

"Faith." He replied. "You probably remember her from when you were teenagers together."

Susie's eyes misted over with memories. "Yeah, I remember Faith. She's not exactly the kind of person you forget."

Gunn nodded and smiled in response to that comment, he agreed with it wholeheartedly. 

"What happened to her?" Susie asked. "Last I heard she was heading off to the west coast. She seemed real excited about the move, said suddenly the whole world was hers for the taking, said that finally she was going to be somebody special, that she had a decent future at last."

Gunn felt a wave of sadness flood though him upon hearing about the hopes and dreams of the young Faith. How quickly things had gone sour for her, he thought. And even when she had straightened her life out, she didn't get to live the bright future she had always wished for. "She, she died." He said painfully. 

Susie's mouth formed into a shocked 'O', then she nodded sadly. "You know," she told Gunn quietly. "I'd always thought that if anyone could have survived what life had to throw at her, it would have been Faith. She was tough. Tougher than me." Susie added with a rueful smile. "What happened?"

"It's a long story." Gunn said simply, the details still too raw and painful to go into. "But she did turn out to be someone special, you know." He continued in a strained voice. "Someone very special."

"She always was special." Susie answered quietly. "It was only Faith who didn't realise it."

Gunn nodded, suddenly unable to speak as grief had stolen his voice and choked up his throat.

"So, what brought you here, sweetie?" Susie asked. "Why did you want to come see little old me?"

Gunn shrugged, he didn't even know exactly why himself. As a way to be close to Faith, he supposed. When he'd seen her diary he'd realised that there were all these things he didn't know about her, all these questions about her past that she would now never be able to answer for him. And he couldn't bare that. He couldn't stand the thought that the love of his life and mother of his child had died before he'd ever even go to know her properly, so he wanted to find the answers to all those questions himself. He wanted to know about her childhood, her friends, her family and he wanted to be able to tell Hope all this stuff as well, when she was older. Now that Faith was gone the best way to remember her was to be around those who had loved her too and that was all he was doing. 

"I guess I just wanted to be around somebody else who missed her." He replied.

"What makes you think I miss her?" Susie twisted her mouth up in a slight smile. 

"Just a hunch." Gunn matched her smile. 

"Well, you got good instincts." She said tiredly. "I never forgot Faith and I don't think I ever will either. Now you gonna pay for that door you smashed in?" She gestured towards the pile of plywood in the corner of the room that had once passed for a door.

Gunn shook his head. "Not if my money's just going to go on more drugs."

Susie gaped up at him. "You've not no right to judge me, _Charles_. You got no idea what it's like. I'm trying to bring up two kids on my own here – sometimes I just need a little lift."

"That's crap." Gunn responded. "You're a junkie. I could drive an express train up the track marks on your arm."

"Fuck you." Was all she could find to say in reply.

"And you're not exactly doing a very good job looking after your kids are you?" Gunn continued, trying to ignore the nagging memory of his own abandonment of Hope. "When was the last time either of them had a bath or some new clothes."

"Get the Hell out of my house." Susie yelled angrily. "Before I call the police."

"What and let them find you stoned whilst looking after two children? I don't think you will somehow."

Susie was silent for a while after this. "What do you want?" She asked finally.

"I want you to sort yourself out." Gunn said. 

"Why do you care?"

"I don't." He told her. "I just thought Faith might."

Susie thought about this for a long time, then turned up at him with tears in her eyes. "I can't do it." She muttered. "It's too hard. I can't quit the stuff – I'm hooked."

"Check yourself into a rehab programme then." Gunn suggested. "It's been done before."

She laughed harshly. "Yeah, where I am going to get the money for rehab from. And whose going to look after my kids when I'm in there. And how am I going to avoid getting hooked again when I come out."

"I never said it would be simple. But don't you owe it to them," he waved a hand in the direction of Susie's two children, "to give it a go."

"You don't know nothing about my life." She rallied against him one last time. "My kids are fine. They're fed, they got a roof over their heads. They got clothes and toys. I don't care if you did know Faith, just butt out of my business."

"And when you accidentally overdose one day, or some john beats you to death, or when the dope's cut with something nasty and you end up dead. Then what are your kids gonna do?" Gunn asked harshly. "End up in the hands of the child protection services like you? Get stuck in the same endless cycle? Do you really want that for them?"

Susie began to cry. "I can't…" she sniffed between sobs. "I just can't…"

"Pack a bag." Gunn instructed her. "And one for the kids too."

Twelve hours later Gunn returned to his hotel room and collapsed on to the bed, exhausted. He had taken Susie to the nearest ER department and had her checked over for any lasting damage due to her drug habit. He had paid for her methadone prescription with his own money then argued with the doctors until they agreed to admit Susie into their drug rehabilitation programme. It was not a total happy ending, however, as the hospital officials had insisted upon getting child and family services involved. They had taken the two children into care, much to Susie's distress. She would be able to get them back, of course, but only after a long fight and if she managed to get herself clean and stay that way. 

Gunn peeled the clothes he was wearing off his tired body and crawled under the covers. He didn't want to live another night like that for a long time. Susie's screamed protests as they had taken her children away, still echoed in his ears. He shut his eyes and tried to make his mind go blank, before slipping away into sleep and dreams of Faith.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_ _

_25th February 1998___

_I've been getting these dreams recently, really weird dreams involving these strange creatures that I have to fight and kill. Somehow, I know they're vampires. And I realise how totally insane that sounds, that I've been slaying vampires in my sleep (shit, even I think it's stupid – coz vampires don't exist, right? They're just something that you see in bad horror movies), but it's true. And I've been getting them every night, really vivid, bright dreams. They're kinda cool, actually. Coz I always beat the vampires. I've got, like, super strength or something and I shove a stake through their hearts and they turn to dust. I didn't even know they did that – explode into dust, that is. I guess my mind invented it or something, either that or cutting class every day to sneak into 'R' rated movies has had sorta warped my mind or whatever. _

_ _

_I wish my life were more like those dreams. I want to be that strong and powerful in real life, not just when I'm asleep. I want to be able to win for once and not be stuck at the bottom of the pile. When Mr Taylor hits me I want to be able to slug him back, instead of cowering in the corner of the kitchen begging for him to stop. The first time he slapped me in the face for insulting one of his sons, I threw back a torrent of abuse at him. That just got my hair grabbed and my face slammed down on the kitchen table. He leaned his mouth close to my ear and told me what he'd do to me if I ever opened my mouth to say such foul things ever again. And his suggestions weren't exactly pretty, I can tell you._

_ _

_All the time I was stuck there with my cheek pressed against the rough wooden tabletop and Mr Taylor's beery breath on the back of my neck, I watched Mrs Taylor just stand there and let him do it. Afterwards I asked her why she didn't help me, didn't even tell him to stop. She just said that her husband was a good man, he was just a stickler for discipline and that I'd learn soon enough how to keep him happy. But I didn't want to. Why on earth would anyone want to learn how to be helpless and pathetic?_

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gunn unconsciously clenched and unclenched his fists as he read of the abuse suffered by Faith at the hands of her stepfather. A man who was supposed to be trusted with her care, who was meant to look after and support her, to provide a safe-haven for her to run to, a home. Instead he had taken advantage of his position mistreating a young girl who was in no position to hit back. Gunn had heard stories about Faith's behaviour in Sunnydale, her breakdown and her betrayal of her friends, and before he had never quite understood what drove her to it. He had listened to other people's reasoning about her unstable personality and how having that much power as a slayer had corrupted her, but that had never quite seemed a good enough reason to Gunn. 

He knew what something about Faith that other people failed to realise. She was strong. And not just physically as well, she was strong in spirit, resilient, tough – that was how she had managed to make the transition back from being evil to doing good again. She'd taken her punishment – the prison sentence and the loss of all the people she had once called friends – stoically and then when it was over, she had continued to try and make things right. She built bridges with those she had alienated, undertook the difficult task of apologising for her behaviour and humbling herself before them. And then she dedicated her life to doing good, helping other people in order to make up for all the pain and suffering she had caused. This was the Faith Gunn knew and loved, this was the mother of his child, not the out-of-control girl she once was. 

So, Gunn had always realised that there was something else to Faith, some other dimension of her life that she hadn't shared with anyone, that finally pushed her over the edge. Or at least put her in a position where she could be pushed. And finally he was beginning to understand what exactly it was, what had motivated Faith and what hurts had scarred her soul. Faith had been brought up a frightened little girl, who hid beneath a veneer of toughness. Everyone she had ever trusted had turned on her. She believed that nobody actually loved her or cared for who she actually was. In her life there were only two sets of people who ever had anything to do with her: those who were forced to by law or association (her foster family, or people at the children's home) and those who wanted something from her (mainly the men whom she dated). She'd only ever had one true friend – Susie – and she had spent her own childhood learning the same lessons as Faith, so could never have provided any of the comfort or reassurance her friend needed. 

In her words he could track the beginnings of her breakdown easily and hardly blamed her for it. Her life had been a roller coaster of ups and downs – mainly downs. With every small bit of comfort in life being ripped away from her and cruel lessons being taught far too early. He wished he had known her then, that he'd been there to show her that some people were different. That life didn't have to be miserable and bleak all the time, that not everyone was against her. But on reflection, ten years ago he had been in pretty much the same situation as Faith, so he couldn't exactly have helped her much. But eventually they had both changed and they had found each other and begun to learn to trust and to love. They had at least shown each other some happiness in their otherwise desolate lives, so maybe that offered some kind of a happy ending. At least she had died knowing people cared about her.

Gunn read and reread the final pages of the diary. It was weird, even though Faith had written these entries nearly ten years ago, he felt as though it were they (rather than the perfunctory conversation they had exchanged a week earlier), which were her last words to him. He wondered why she's stopped writing back then – the journal was half empty. Maybe it was because she had nothing more to say. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_14th April 1998___

_Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Faith… And for your extra special birthday present you get an insane stalker and a broken cheekbone. Whoopee do! Just what I always wanted. I'm sitting in hospital now and it's not that bad. They've given me painkillers and the doctors say that my cheek is healing incredibly well, they've never seen anything like it. The swelling's gone down almost completely already. And at least the one good thing to come out of all this is that I won't have to go back to that house. Finally, someone's realised that I can actually tell the truth and the man who's supposed to be entrusted with my care is actually a drunken wife and child-beater. Shame it had to take me being knocked unconscious and carted off in an ambulance to prove it. I still can't believe what happened, it just seems like an absolute blur. Like none of it make sense, and I suppose it doesn't._

_ _

_On my birthday, which was yesterday (yes, I was born on the thirteenth, how's that for an omen?) this strange man was waiting for me outside the school gates. He had this la-di-da, 'anyone for a game of cricket', Union Jack shoved up his ass accent and he knew my name. It was majorly scary, having some guy you've never met before just grab hold of your arm and start calling your name. He looked straight at me and said "You've been having the dreams haven't you, Faith". And I can tell you I freaked out right there and then. What the hell does some perverted middle-aged man know about my dreams? I know what he thinks he knows, but that's all crap and I won't be a part of it._

_ _

_So, I told him to get the fuck away from me, to stop touching my arm or I'd get my 6ft5", bouncer boyfriend to beat him to a bloody pulp. He paled slightly at that, I can tell you. Then he apologised, said he never meant to scare me, that I was 'the Chosen One', or some other crap like that, and that I had to listen to him. Obviously, he was a crazy type and I told him I didn't care what line he used on me I wasn't going to have sex with him. He just laughed at that and said of course he didn't want to sleep with me, I was far too young for him. Then he started talking about this thing called the Slayer and how I was fated to be the next one (the one girl in all the world who has the strength to kill vampires) and that was why I had been having the dreams, they were, and I quote, 'portents of my destiny'. Well, that's just bullshit, there are no such things as vampires and I don't have a destiny, I don't even have a future. And what the fucking hell are portents, anyway?? _

_ _

_But he kept on talking, telling me I had a sacred duty to protect mankind and that eventually I would help save the world from ending. He said that I would be 'called' soon, that the changes had already started to begin. I was getting stronger more agile, my senses were becoming tuned into the darker side of life. I pulled away from him, heading off in the opposite direction. He told me I couldn't just walk away from this like that, that I couldn't ignore my fate. It really scared me, I can tell you. What was this nut-job, this foreign nut-job, doing getting inside my head, knowing my name and my dreams and why couldn't he just leave me alone? _

_ _

_When I got home I was still shaking from my encounter. I know Boston is full of crazies, but it's not everyday you get some guy telling you that vampires and demons are real and that you are fated to slay them. There was nobody in the house and I was pissed off at being alone on my birthday, the whole day had been a total bust so far and I just needed something to liven it up. So, I called Susie and invited her over. She offered me some of the stuff she had, said it would cheer me up. I didn't even need to inject it she said, I could just heat some up on a piece of foil and inhale the fumes. I thought about it for a long time and then said no. Susie's my best friend, but she's rail thin with has dark circles underneath her eyes, her hands shake and I can tell she's dying for a fix. I don't want that to happen to me. Instead I raided Mr Taylor's liquor cabinet, going for the slightly more conventional high. I found a half full bottle of whiskey and we drank it together, giggling like the schoolgirls we actually are. _

_ _

_This is how the Taylors found us, sitting in the corner, laughing and screaming drunkenly, the empty bottle abandoned nearby. I don't remember much after that, except shouting and Susie running out and me finding it all hysterically funny, until the first blow hit me. That was to the stomach. He likes to hit you where it doesn't show, the first couple of times, then he can pretend that he's the dutiful husband and good citizen who doesn't really beat up innocent women. But when he gets really angry, or really drunk, he stops caring about appearances, instead he just lashes out, like he did last night, raining blows down on me. I held my hands up to protect my face, but it didn't work – he still caught me straight in the side of the cheek with his balled up fist and I went sprawling backwards, hitting my head against the wall and knocking myself out. And that's the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital with an aching face and a splitting headache. _

_ _

_Wonder what I'll get next year?_

_ _

_15th April 1998___

_I was discharged from hospital today, my face has healed completely and the doctors were absolutely amazed. They kept asking me how I was feeling and prodding and poking at my cheek. In the end I told them I felt great and just walked out. I was getting sick of the whole business and just wanted to put it all behind me. But that weird English guy was waiting outside the hospital to pick me up. He said he had documents or something to let him take me home. I said I wasn't going anywhere with him, but he wouldn't go away. He followed me down the street, then he grabbed hold of my arm, real tight, and I just saw red. Nobody's gonna push me around like that Mr Taylor. I shook the guy off and lashed out with my fist. He ended up on the ground, blood pouring out of his nose and he got this light in his eyes and just whispered up to me. "It's happening, Faith. You know it's happening to you."_

_ _

_I got up close to him and grabbed him by the throat. "What's happening?" I asked, because I knew he was telling the truth. There was something different about my body recently. I felt stronger and more powerful or something. And I was beginning to lie awake nights, unable to sleep, just feeling restless. And he looked me straight in the eyes and said: "You're becoming her – the Slayer. And there's nothing you can do to stop it." I threw him back down on the sidewalk and told him he was spewing crap, but a part of me knew he wasn't, a part me believed every word he said, because it was true. _

_ _

_In the end I went home with him, even met his wife – she seemed really nice. Made me feel like I was an important visitor and that she really wanted me there, she wasn't just putting up with me. We sat down to dinner together, in the dining room, eating a three-course meal off their best china and all the time they were asking questions about me. What kind of stuff did I like? How was school going? What did I do for fun? And then they really listened to the answers, like they actually cared about what I thought. It made me feel kinda special. But I never forgot why I was there and after dinner I asked Callum – that was the guy's name – for the explanation he promised. He started showing me all these books about vampires and demons and said I was destined to help rid the world of these creatures. I laughed at first, but he persisted telling me how important I was and how the future of the earth might depend on me. It actually made me feel worthwhile for the first time in my life, that somebody wanted me and my whole existence wasn't a mistake. _

_ _

_He told me about this ritual I would have to go through – the Calling. And after that I would be a full-blown Slayer. I would have powers and abilities I'd never even dreamed of, and I'd finally actually become someone, rather than just being another statistic. Oh and I'd be able to quit school, to take up Slaying full-time, which was also a major bonus._

_ _

_11th May 1998___

_This Slaying gig is the coolest thing ever! I've never had it so great in my whole life. Last night I dusted ten vamps, it was incredible – you just have to put a stake through their heart and they disintegrate right before your eyes. And another one saw me and ran away, frightened! Imagine that, evil creatures of the night frightened of lil' ole Faith. I always knew I was dangerous. And I feel so strong, so powerful, I can do anything I want. A guy tried to take my purse the other night and I just kicked him in the head, served him fucking right. I'm the one in charge here. I'm the special one, he was just nothing._

_ _

_Last week I went back to the Taylors and finally taught the guy a lesson. He had no idea who he was messing with, so I showed him. I returned every blow he had ever given me and then some. I made him beg for mercy. It was amazing the adrenaline rush I got from it, from seeing his blood pooling on the same kitchen floor he used to make me cower on. He can't hurt me now, nobody can._

_ _

_7th June 1998___

_Victoria, Callum's wife, announced today she was having a baby. I got worried for a minute that once they have the kid, I won't be able to stay with them anymore. Living with them is the only time I've ever felt like I have a real home, a real family and I didn't want to lose that. But Callum said he's my Watcher, which means he'll always be there when I need him and I can live with them however long I like. After that I was cool with it all. I'm glad they're happy, I hope they don't expect me to baby-sit, though!_

_ _

_1st July 1998___

_Callum says we're gonna move to California, some little town called Sunnydale. Apparently it's got major demon problems, something about the mouth of Hell. Whatever, I don't care – as long as the vamps keep coming, I'll keep slaying them. And the weather should be pretty cool in California. Basically, I can't wait to leave Boston behind. It's such a god awful city and I've always been unhappy here. New start in a new place? Sounds great to me. All we have to do first is take out the last major nest of vamps and then we're done. Sunnydale, here we come!_

_ _

_3rd July 1998___

_THE FUCKING BASTARDS. I CAN'T BELIEVE I LET IT HAPPEN. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!!! GOD, IT'S SO UNFAIR. I HATE IT. I HATE EVERYTHING. WHY???? FUCK THEM ALL! THE WORLD CAN GO TO HELL, FOR ALL I CARE! SHIT. IT'S NOT FAIR!_

_ _

_4th July 1998___

_I watched the fireworks alone tonight. And I didn't get their point. Who even gives a fucking damn about Independence Day? I know I don't. I still can't believe Callum's dead. I'm not crying, I'm not going to cry. I'm just going to finish off the vamps that killed him. They deserve to die horribly. I'm going to make them pay for what they did. I'm going to make them all pay. Victoria asked me to leave, she said it was too painful to have me around, so I'm going to go to Sunnydale, like we planned. Victoria gave me the money and I'm leaving and never coming back. I hate this town and all the people in it. The sooner I can get out of here the better. Good-fucking-bye Boston._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gunn prepared to say his own goodbye to Boston, faintly amused by the irony that it was a diary that had brought him here and a diary that was sending him back. He held in his hand the journal of Faith's Watcher, Callum Forrester. He hadn't brought himself to read it yet – he was still too overwhelmed by the information he had learnt from Faith's own writings – but he would get around to it soon. The temptation to know was just too great. 

He'd been to see Victoria Forrester, the wife of Faith's first Watcher. She'd been living in the same house as when Faith had stayed there. Didn't want to leave behind all the memories she had told him. When he's explained the purpose of his visit she'd cried and led him out into her small, shaded garden. In the middle of the lawn a child played, a young girl with a waterfall of fiery red hair cascading down her back. Victoria introduced the girl as her daughter – Faith. Gunn had cried then too, despite himself. He hadn't cried since he found the body and he hadn't intended to again. In his book crying was a sign of weakness, whimpering about her death wouldn't bring Faith back, so what was the point?

But sitting in Victoria's warm, homely kitchen, her hand tightly coiled in his, he sobbed until his lungs burst with the effort. He wept for himself and the woman he had lost, for all the chances Faith had missed out on and all the hardships she had been forced to endure. He wept for Hope who would have to grow up without a mother and for the little girl with the flaming red hair who was missing a father. But most of all he cried for all the people who would never meet Faith, who would never know her strength and her vitality and would never have their lives enriched by her presence. It was them he felt the most sorry for, because at least he'd had her for a while. At least he'd been fortunate to receive to of the greatest gifts she ever gave – her love and her baby daughter.

Gunn knew then that he hadn't lost Faith, because she was still alive in his heart and in the heats of everyone who'd ever met her. That a scarred and cynical junkie could still remember Faith with tears in her eyes, or that a woman who only knew Faith for a couple of months would name her only child after her, was proof enough of that. And Faith would live on in Hope, in her spirit and in her soul. Gunn would see to that if nothing else.

When he had finished crying he felt much better. His grief and not eased any, but he felt more honest with himself at least. He felt as though he had finally acknowledged the fact that Faith was dead and not coming back, whereas before he had just been trying to deny it. And yet more than that he realised it was OK that he missed her. It was all right that his life was falling apart without her, because that's what happened when you lost someone you loved. And once he'd finally accepted his pain he could begin dealing with it, working through it, instead of bottling it up inside and letting it destroy him. 

At the end of a long afternoon of talking through his problems with Victoria, Gunn stood up to leave, thanking her profusely for all the help she had been. She just smiled back at him and said he had been as much a help to her as she was to him. It was not often she got the chance to remember her dead husband and still now she needed someone to share the pain with. Plus the fact she was gratified to learn that Faith had finally found such an excellent man to share her life with, even if their time together had been short. Gunn was touched to hear this, and thought at the time how right Faith had been in her initial judgement of Victoria – she really was one of the nicest people he'd ever met.

Before Gunn left, she'd disappeared upstairs and come back down with the journal. Gunn should have it she said. It contained some important facts about Faith and her history that he should know. Gunn thanked her for the volume and left, promising that he would keep in touch. She had smiled sadly in response to this, knowing that it was a promise he wouldn't keep. His need for comfort had been particular to this afternoon and she had been glad to help, but somehow she realised that her presence was not something he would be seeking out ever again. Gunn bid her farewell, the diary clutched tightly to his chest, grateful that even for a short while Faith's life had been enriched by this woman and her husband. He prepared to set off back to Sunnydale, finally ready to begin rebuilding his life without Faith. __

THE END

_A/N ~ _Sorry if the end was a little pathetic, but I just kind of ran out of steam! Thanks for reading, anyway!

__


End file.
